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The room was bright with late-afternoon light when Bad finally opened his eyes to the murky off-white of his ceiling. It was quiet, save for the faint rustling of leaves, though the sound was closer than he remembered. A gentle breeze stirred the hair at his forehead from where laid on his side of the bed, but the scent it carried was sort of… acrid. Did they leave a window open?
He felt sore as if he’d fallen down the stairs, and a bone-deep exhaustion kept him from sitting up. The events of the night prior were a haze, and Bad couldn’t even remember stumbling into his room, let alone what he could’ve been up to. It was spring, so he must’ve been out and about—maybe traveling? Had he just returned from somewhere far? It would make sense, but any recollection escaped him.
It was a little unusual, but surely there was a simple explanation. Bad turned to his right, gaze expecting to land on the blurry, sleeping face of his best friend, mouth parted to ask a question he hadn’t entirely thought of yet.
When his eyes finally adjusted, instead of that familiar scene, he saw red.
…Red?
Bad’s heart plummeted. Red… blood? But it wasn’t dark enough to be blood, and it seemed like an object, but what object would- could it be? A body? But whose body? Who was red? Red, red, red-
Skeppy?
There was no way- no way Skeppy was still red. And- and why- why would they have gone to bed together, anyway, if he was? When he hated him? They didn’t even live together anymore when just the thought of Bad repelled him.
Bad scrambled to find his glasses on his bedside table, throat constricting, claws scratching marks into the furniture’s already well-worn wood in the process. When the scrabble proved fruitless, he resolved to palm the shag carpet under him until his fist finally closed around the small metal frames.
He slipped the glasses on and whipped his head to the side, eyes wide and wild, only to be met with no Skeppy. No open window to speak of, either.
Beside him, dulled and decaying, was one of the large red tendrils left behind by the Egg. It was crushing the half of their bed that Skeppy used to sleep in and curling over the footboard onto the dirty, debris-covered floor. In the other direction, it stretched through a gaping hole in their wall.
The entire left side of the room was crumbling, actually, with that vine and others having seemingly collapsed in a portion of the roof and fallen into their second-story bedroom.
At that moment, a bird fluttered through their brand-new panoramic window and landed atop Skeppy’s dresser, twigs in beak. The large nest it appeared to be building—to have been building for a few days at least, if not a week or more—suggested that their spontaneous home renovation wasn’t actually as recent as he assumed.
He scrubbed a heavy hand over his cheek, willing the lingering adrenaline away, determined to calm his nerves. Of course, instead of something as predictable as his own short fur, he felt some sort of flaky residue poke against his palm when it came in contact with his face.
Disoriented, Bad threw off his blanket, and the first thing he noticed about himself when he looked down was his outfit. Not pajamas—rather, his day clothes: cloak, armor, belt, sash… and his grey bodysuit. Bad chewed at his bottom lip. To call it grey at that point would be generous, considering the fact that it was almost entirely coated in blackened blood.
A long gash tore through the fabric covering his chest, but his fur wasn’t even parted with the memory of a blade sliding between his ribs. Who killed him, though? Was it Skeppy, on the dock? Oh, beautiful blue Skeppy had put a loving but firm hand on his shoulder before brandishing his sword, and then…
Bad blinked hard and rubbed his forehead for a moment. No, it wasn’t Skeppy. It had been Puffy, the last time. In the Egg room. Possessed by the Egg. Bad felt pressure build behind his eyes as it all came rushing back. Who’s fault was that, that she’d been possessed? That everyone had been possessed, including himself? Who was to blame for the vine he laid in bed with now?
Me, me, mine, mine, my fault, my fault, my fault, my fault…
A knock at his door pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. “ Daaaaad ?” came a small voice from behind it. “Are you awaaake?”
Crap.
Bad leapt to his feet and fended off the itch under his skin urging him to rip the door off its hinges. Instead, he turned the handle like a well-adjusted person and dragged his gaze to the floor before him.
“Oh, Junior?” he said gently, pushing the budding hysteria from his voice and instantly bending down to offer his child his open arms, ignoring the probably-blood on his hands. “How long was I out for?”
Junior stiffened when their eyes met, only offering Bad a janky shrug in response before tentatively reaching out for him. Once in Bad’s hold, he slung his little arms around his dad’s neck and rested his head heavily on his shoulder. What had Skeppy said? Gemfolk could go on for months without food, right? And they didn’t drink water? Junior wasn’t entirely gemfolk, though—but he did seem alright—but how neglectful was it of Bad to go off and die somewhere when his baby had no one at home to take care of him? Shameful, really.
He probably looked like a corpse, judging by the fact that he absolutely felt disgusting enough to be one. Guilt overcame him when he realized he was getting grime all over Skeppy Jr., who, more importantly, needed to be tended to.
And so, Bad propped his son on his hip and began puttering around the house, resolved to ignore the depressing state of it. The kitchen seemed to have suffered the most damage, windows shattered, tiled floor torn up, appliances crushed by chunks of wall and ceiling—the whole nine yards. Bad just plopped Junior in his booster seat at the dining table and perused the remaining cupboards for something for him to eat.
Junior made quick work of a couple of chunks of charcoal before they headed to the upstairs bathroom, which was (miraculously) almost entirely intact. Bad set him down on the toilet seat cover and plugged the tub, turning on the faucet so it could begin filling. All of Junior’s toiletries were under the sink, so Bad quickly washed his hands and rummaged around for a washcloth and dish soap.
Bad helped Junior change out of his dirty clothes, washed him, dried him, and carried him to his room swaddled in a towel. Skeppy and his bedroom was in the north wing of the house while Junior’s was in the south, which luckily appeared to be more structurally sound overall.
“Which jammies do you want, June?” Bad asked.
Junior shrugged.
“How about your purple ones?”
He gave a halfhearted nod and looked away. Bad frowned.
Junior was a shy kid, but never at home, and never with Bad. Had he really been away long enough to become a stranger to him? He turned the thought over in his mind as he got his son dressed for bed and tucked him in. Before his disappearance, he’d sit on the edge of Junior’s bed and run a soothing hand over his forehead before he drifted off to sleep. Now, it didn’t seem so wise to get his clean sheets all dirty, so Bad just sat on the floor next to him.
Once his head hit the pillow, Junior was out like a light. Almost as quickly as he’d entered, Bad was leaving to beeline back to the bathroom.
The crawling sensation under his skin was starting to overwhelm him, and as soon as the door was shut, he was tearing off his cloak and belts and dumping them into a pile on the tiled floor.
Bad’s bodysuit didn’t come off so easily, with layers of sticky blood and sweat practically fusing the fabric to his fur and clinging to the follicles while he peeled the garment off. The stench was something otherworldly, too, burning his eyes and upsetting his empty stomach. He dry-heaved into the sink.
Bad trashed the item—one less thing he needed to worry about. He jumped in place and rolled his shoulders back until he heard them crack before leaning over the lip of the tub and turning on the shower. As soon as an icy stream began pouring from the shower head, Bad stepped under.
The biting cold would probably do him some good, he figured. Or, maybe good for his psyche, but he didn’t expect it to make him feel any cleaner. He felt weighed down, period. Now that his mind wasn’t occupied with thoughts of Junior, it was surprisingly empty. The calm before the storm? he wondered.
Muddy brown water swirled down the drain and Bad watched it go, gaze jumping between larger specks of what he hoped was just dirt until he was soaked down to his skin and shivering. Feeling slimier than before, he turned the temperature dial as far as it would go until the little arrow pointed to red instead of blue.
The water temperature slowly passed comfortability until it became scorching, and he stood there with it for a while, cleaning himself on autopilot. He raked his claws down his neck, across his chest, and up his arms, more to relieve the itch than anything. He shook himself out like a dog and turned his ears away from the harsh clack of droplets against the plastic shower curtain
The harsh stream was starting to hurt, but the burning sensation wasn’t what prompted him to finish up.
Bad turned off the shower and pulled back the curtain before stepping onto the bath mat. He couldn't stand to be in the bathroom any longer, but it was as if he were frozen in place. The sight of their toothbrushes in a cup on the counter made him sick. In the shower, he’d stared daggers at Skeppy’s gem and jewelry cleaner sitting next to his own shampoo as he washed the dirt and grime and blood out of his oily fur. Once finished, he nearly reached for Skeppy’s towel to dry off with before he flinched away like it was hotter than the boiling water he’d been standing under.
Skeppy’s towel hanging off the rack, Skeppy’s assorted post-it notes collecting dust on the mirror, Skeppy’s clothes in the hamper in the laundry room, Skeppy’s mini-me tucked into bed for the night—Skeppy was everywhere except actually at home, and it was nauseating.
He took his own towel to maintain some peace of mind and returned to his room, leaving his dirty clothes on the ground for tomorrow’s Bad to deal with. He considered putting on a set of Skeppy's pajamas back in their bedroom, but that almost seemed disrespectful.
Once wearing some of his own instead, he supposed he deserved to climb back under his soiled bed sheets and lay with his mistake, but he couldn't afford to be any more irrational. Instead, Bad took a comforter out of the linen closet in the hall, returned to Skeppy Jr.’s room, and pulled the spare cot out from under his bed. He didn’t bother putting a fitted sheet on the thing, and instead just wrapped himself in the comforter, laid down, and passed out.
…
Bad awoke with a start when Junior stepped on him while getting out of bed, though the rest of the morning was relatively unremarkable. Junior was warming back into his usual self, more inclined to chat and be his dad’s favorite nuisance. Bad helped Junior get dressed, got dressed himself, made breakfast, and brought them outside to eat on the front stoop. Staying inside the stuffy mansion was seriously starting to bum him out.
After Bad excused Junior to go play around in the yard, he figured he might as well go and check the mail. He doubted they had any, but maybe the routine of it would do something for him. He put his plate down, stood up, and started down what was left of their front path.
At the mailbox, he was granted an unobstructed view of the dilapidated state of their once-beautiful mansion. Shining quartz had been almost entirely replaced with smooth stone and crumbling concrete, and the red and blue “accent” walls only contributed to the lunacy of it all. It looked like a funhouse. A circus tent. Bad barked out a laugh before he had the chance to cry about it, and absently lowered the box’s little red flag and pulled at the metal latch before sticking his hand inside.
Surprisingly enough, they’d actually received something; it was just a simple cardstock slip, but when was the last time they’d been sent anything at all? Bad straightened his glasses on his snout and glanced over the bold, black lettering.
- WELCOME TO -
THE QSMP
- DESTINATION: -
Quesadilla Island
- This Ticket belongs to: -
BadBoyHalo
He turned the ticket around. There was some information about a train station and the date the train to the island would leave, and something else that caught his eye:
COME ALONE . Humans Only!
“What?” he murmured to himself. What did he mean, humans only? Quackity already knew him to be nonhuman, didn’t he? Wasn’t it obvious? Was he even human himself?
Whatever. He could figure that out. Maybe Quackity answered to someone. Come alone, though? Bad stuck his hand back in the mailbox and felt around even while he knew it was empty, as if second and third tickets would miraculously materialize under his fingertips.
Of course, that didn’t happen. So… what now? If anything, this was an invitation for him to think. About everything. Maybe everything that transpired over the last handful of years, even. Maybe every wrong turn he made that led him to consider the offer of the ticket in the first place.
Bad returned to the front door with the lone letter and opted to drag a chair onto the lawn. They had one leaning against the side of the house, so bad shook it open, set it down, and pocketed the paper so he could redirect his attention to watching his son run around, babbling to himself and giggling. Sunlight refracted off the planes of his face and danced across the grass as he played.
Bad smiled at the sight, but the weight in his chest was… distractingly heavy. He couldn’t help but think of better days, when Skeppy would lounge by his side, or wrestle in the yard with their little Sapnap. When their house was in one piece, and his family was in one piece.
Where was Skeppy now, anyway? He-
“Dada! Look! Watch me!” Junior called, hopping around and waving an arm. He did a couple of little stunts on the grass before dashing back to Bad’s chair, visibly proud of himself. Bad cooed praises and clapped, more out of routine than anything. Junior didn’t seem to notice his resignation, settling to climb into Bad’s lap and curl against his chest, spaded tail wrapping possessively around his forearm. His stubby horns would start poking the spot underneath Bad’s chin, soon, he noted.
He was growing up, and they desperately needed a new start. Bad took the ticket back out and turned it over in his hands, and turned it over again, and again, and again. Humans only, come alone. Maybe it would be worth it, though, to go? Could it be? He figured he could be human for a while. Sure, maybe it’d be a little inconvenient, but so what? It’s not like he hadn’t faced inconvenience before, and it couldn’t be more inconvenient than the last however many years of his life he wasted under the spell of some… some eldritch horror.
He let out a mirthless giggle at the thought, and Skeppy Jr. wriggled in his arms.
His thoughts wandered back to Skeppy, as they always seemed to. He’d said he’d forgiven him before striking him down on the dock, but there was no way that could be true. Maybe, if he made things right, though, his friend and the others would see his remorse..? -If he knew where to find any of them.
Bad flinched as the house creaked dangerously behind him, and he turned just in time to watch a long crack shoot down one of the fresher-looking stone pillars. Junior stirred in his arms, but his eyes stayed shut.
Things could never get better here, and the sooner Bad accepted that, the better. The ticket burned in his hands.
He’d go to Quesadilla Island. He was out of options. But maybe… he could build them a new house? And maybe Skeppy did get a ticket , Bad assured himself—after all, the mansion wasn’t the only place they’d ever lived. Their vacation home had a mailbox, and that’s where Skeppy’d ended up when they saw each other last.
The thought was enough to get him up and moving, at least.
…
Puffy had gifted him a sewing machine some years ago, tired of hearing him complain about his aching hands and countless broken needles. He prayed it still worked after all the time it spent collecting dust in their basement. He sat at it now, testing the pedals and threading a bobbin, flexing his stiff fingers.
His bodysuit was in the garbage, and his cloak had definitely seen better days. Of course, it was iconic—a staple in his wardrobe—but it was hard to make an argument for it anymore. It wasn’t exactly fashionable to walk around in something that was one strong gust of wind away from falling apart. What was important was that he needed a disguise.
He borrowed one of Skeppy’s hoodies to make a pattern, and used the cloak’s salvageable fabric to fashion one hoodie for himself. They had some leftover black material from when he made the hazmat suits, so he used that to sew up a pair of casual pants.
Once his outfit was figured out, he returned to Skeppy and his room to find whatever else he wanted to haul over to Quesadilla Island, and ultimately ended up stuffing his largest backpack with an assortment of clothes and miscellaneous. Since he figured he could craft or trade for most amenities on the island, the only thing that actually influenced his packing list was the sentiment of the items he found around the house. He swiped a few of Skeppy’s tank tops, various paraphernalia from their adventures together, and no less than twenty printed pictures of Skeppy and Junior and Sapnap and Skeppy and Skeppy and Skeppy.
Skeppy swiped a pair of enchanted necklace pendants from somewhere some years ago, and digging through his disaster of a chest just to find them was a feat itself. Humans Only! rang clearly in his mind, and what a coincidence it was that Skeppy possessed a piece of jewelry that’d temporarily turn the wearer human. He figured adorning the pendant's stone as a necklace could be inconvenient if he needed to quickly change back into his typical form, so he ran through a list of alternative accessories in his head.
A ring would be too easily lost, a bracelet would pose the same problem as a necklace… maybe his glasses? He knew Skeppy kept a few spare frames in their junk drawer in the kitchen. Maybe he could do something with that.
…
The flight to their vacation home was a straightforward one, though Bad wanted anything but to arrive. He made the trip longer, taking detours over lush forests and scenic lakes, reveling in the way Junior would Ooh and Ah the sights. He was positioned securely between Bad’s front and a backpack, hands free to point and tiny wings flapping uselessly behind him.
“When am I gonna get to fly?” Junior chirped.
“Soon,” Bad said, like he had any idea when that would be.
They glided around aimlessly a little longer, and after making an hour out of what should’ve been ten minutes, they arrived at the beach house. Unfortunately, it was exactly as Bad remembered. Quaint, simple, and likely harboring Skeppy.
Slowly, Bad lowered them down onto the grass just before the dock and lifted Junior out of his makeshift harness. It was a particularly nice day, which somehow made everything worse. He felt like a couple of clouds or a little rain would be more appropriate for a moment like this.
Bad took a steadying breath and beckoned Junior to follow him onto the dock. “I’m gonna knock on the door, and Papa is gonna come pick you up. I gotta run,” he hummed.
“Huh?” Junior raised his little eyebrows, trailing behind. “Where are you going?”
“I have to head out for a little bit, okay, June? Your dad has to go on a… business trip.” He unclipped Junior’s backpack from across his chest and set it down in front of the door.
“Well, can I come?” he whined, clutching at Bad’s pant legs, staring up with wide, cloudy brown eyes.
Brown like Skeppy’s, but solid-colored and opalescent like his own. It hurt to look into them. “Not yet, okay? I gotta do some stuff by myself first. You and Papa are gonna hang out without me, but I’ll see you soon. It’ll be fun! You guys’ll have fun together, right?”
Junior caught his tone wavering, as any smart kid would. And oh , he was so smart. So, so smart, and Bad would miss him so freaking much . “Why are you sad?” Junior murmured, brows knitting together, and gosh , he looked too much like Skeppy. His tiny fingers curled tighter into the fabric he was gripping.
“Aw, I’m just a little bummed to go. I’ll miss you when I’m gone…” he warbled, trying and failing to retain the composure needed to make this less crushingly difficult.
“Then don’t leave!” Junior wailed, voice watery. He wrapped his stubby tail around his own leg and wiped at his face with the back of a clawed hand. “Why can’t I have you and Papa now?” he sniffled, “Just stay here?”
Bad’s head suddenly felt hot. Maybe this was the wrong choice. When was the last time Skeppy Jr. saw both of his parents together? And now he’d be leaving, not even attempting to reconcile with his best friend before taking off and just hoping they’d meet somewhere in the middle. He didn’t even really know where the middle was.
Gosh, his plan was so half-baked, and what if it straight-up just didn’t work? He couldn’t bear to open Skeppy’s mailbox just to find it empty at this point—couldn’t risk getting cold feet when everything was already squared away and built on the assumption that the rest of his family would arrive at the island with him.
Their mansion was decrepit. The surrounding area was abandoned. This may be their only opportunity to leave, and at least if Bad was the only one with a way out, he’d have a foot in the door for the rest of them, right?
Finally, Junior properly burst into tears, pulling Bad out of his thoughts as he heaved loud sobs and clung to him like his life depended on it. Bad bit his bottom lip as it quivered, and couldn’t wipe his own tears fast enough to stop a few stray drops from dripping onto his son’s shiny head.
There was no way Skeppy wouldn’t hear the commotion they were making. Bad needed to get out of there, and fast.
The loosely-packed cobblestone crunched under Bad’s talons as he squatted down, bringing Junior into his arms and hugging him like this’d be the last they’d ever see of each other, even if it wasn’t—and it wasn’t . They would reunite. He’d meet them on the island, or at the train station, or something .
He needed to leave before he saw Skeppy’s face and that alone convinced him to rip apart his ticket and stay. We can’t keep living like this , he told himself, clinging to the quickly-unraveling threads of his plan.
He thought back to their old treehouse—their jungle home from decades before. That life they shared was destined to come to an end, and things were fine for a while after it did. Fortunately, then, they almost immediately wandered back to each other and built the mansion to settle down in together. Things would turn out fine again, even if Skeppy and Junior weren’t on his exact train, or the one after, or the one after that-
“I love you, Junior. Tell Papa I love him too, and I miss him, and I’ll miss you,” he sighed against his head, “You guys will know when you can come meet up with me,” he said without an ounce of confidence, “I’ll see you muffins again before you know it.”
Junior didn’t answer, but his breathing evened out.
The sound of footsteps and an unintelligible word had Bad’s ears instantly swiveling toward the door. “I have to go, buddy, okay? Dada’s leaving. Your papa’s gonna open the door for you in a second, okay? I love you, I love you,” he repeated, and kept repeating as he stood up and gently pried his baby’s arms away from his waist.
“I love you,” he said again as he unfurled his wings and backed away, “I love you,” as his heart lurched painfully in his chest, as his son screamed at him to stay, as he took flight.
All he could do was mouth the words as he heard the front door being thrown open, already putting distance between himself and the house. He faltered in the air as he heard Skeppy’s voice call into the sky after him, surprised and angry and hurt and broken, but he refused to turn around.
…
On the mainland, he finished gathering his things. He popped the lenses of his old glasses into their new, enchanted frames and slid them over his ears. His head felt too exposed without horns, so he threw a baseball hat on, too. He’d have to get used to plantigrade legs and the inconvenience of walking all over the place, but it’d be fine. Everything was going to be fine.
He leaned his forehead against the cool stone of the mansion’s frame and raised blunt nails to scratch at the peeling paint streaking their front door. His hands weren’t the ones that’d laid those white bricks or trimmed their hedges or paved the walkway all those years ago, as much as he wished they could still be.
His new hands, now pale and fleshy and different, weren’t the ones that used to hold Skeppy’s with a reverence. He flexed and relaxed his fingers and watched the tendons strain under his skin. What would Skeppy think of how they felt, now? Would he still take hold of them to rub circles into his palms with the smooth, cold pads of his thumbs? Or reach for them to grab his attention in favor of just calling his name? Would Skeppy even care how he looked or what he felt like, after everything? Surely his priorities lay elsewhere, in more important matters, like what he’d done to him.
With a curt shake of his head and a scowl, he cut off the thoughts before they could fester any further and straightened his cap. All he seemed to do was sit around and ruminate nowadays, and that would get him nowhere.
He exhaled. Something in the back of his mind told him he wouldn’t be seeing Skeppy on that train, but he ignored it.
Before he had the chance to second-guess himself again, he pulled out a crumpled map, jostled the backpack on his shoulders, and started for the station.